


Beautiful Morning

by lysanatt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4779428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting Cas warm after a night in the Impala is not so difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Morning

**Author's Note:**

> For the 24 hr Salt Burn Porn challenge (24 hours from tag to finished fic). Due to the rushed nature of such a challenge, please bear with any remaining errors. For Safiyabat's prompt 'glitter'.

It's a beautiful morning. There was a time when Dean didn't care about mornings or their beauty, not that he's particularly interested in them as such, but this morning in particular is filled with sun and blue skies and the pristine snow that covers the ground. 

Oh, and Cas.

"I'm cold." Castiel is leaning over the back of the front bench seat. Dean thinks he might be pouting, but there is really no way to know. It might be Castiel's usual expression. 

"It's snowing."

"I can see that, Dean."

Dean looks out at the falling snow. It glitters in the morning sun, making the forest around them look magical and beautiful. It might be beautiful, all right, but Cas is right. It's damned cold, and it might have been a mistake, sleeping in the car. They've solved their case, there is no reason to stay, and Dean want to go back to the bunker, the sooner the better. Because there's a bed waiting for him, soft mattress and warm blankets. They are not going to be cold, not that Cas is bothered by the cold weather, not really, not the way Dean is.

Castiel huffs and shuffles around in the back seat. He opens the door and lets the cold, crisp air in; it has this taste of winter, all clean and fresh, as if the forest's long sleep underneath the snow blanket cleans it off before spring. He slams the door and it send a flurry of snow into the car. 

"And that makes it better, how?" Dean growls. "Seriously, Cas!"

Cas opens the passenger side door, sliding in next to Dean. "I'm still cold," he announces before he sends Dean _that_ look. 

"I could turn on the heat," Dean teases and turns the ignition. The Impala comes to life with a tiger growl, slurping down half a galleon of gasoline, just because she can. The ventilation sends a gust of icy air into the cabin; the motor has yet to heat up properly. "If you promise to be good."

"You could," Cas says, still too close, if such a thing as too close to Dean ever existed. Well, it did at some point, before Dean got his shit together. Cas looks expressionless, but he can't fool Dean. "Or."

"You're a pervert," Dean murmurs, his mouth on Cas's cheek, moving toward his ear. "Even I don't like to fuck in the car this much. You have a fetish, Cas."

"I don't have a fetish," Cas argues, shrugging off his coat. "You, on the other hand... tying people up is a fet—"

"Yes, thank you. And it's not a fetish, I just like you like that, all mine." Dean silences any opposing opinions or arguments with a kiss. They so don't need to go there. With Cas's lips under his and the memory of a naked Cas tied up hard to the bed fluttering in his mind, Dean moans at the thought. This morning Cas tastes of winter and sleep, but Dean likes that too. He dives in, kissing Cas over and over, until they are both breathless and the cold is on a quick retreat. The engine is rumbling under them, the Impala humming as Dean undresses Cas slowly, keeping to unbuttoning and unzipping, not pulling off what does not need to be pulled off. Dean's breath is still making damp little clouds as hot meets cold and Cas's nipples are peaking more because of the cold than because Dean is ghosting his fingers over them.

Cas's hand is warm as it makes its way into Dean's pants, down his boxers. "Thought you were cold," he whispers between kisses. "But you're not."

Cas cuts off any further debate or consideration by closing his fingers around Dean's growing erection. "Cas," Dean whines, although he'd never admit it, even under the threat of torture. But Cas knows what he's doing, driving Dean all crazy by a mere touch. And since nobody hears them, Dean makes the sound again, impatient and eager, wanting Cas to touch him more, harder, more intimately. 

"We don't have..." Cas's voice trails off, but Dean knows he's not embarrassed; no sexual act or anything related to sex makes Cas embarrassed. It's like sex between them is always like that, decimated to what it should have always been from the beginning of time: pleasure and tenderness and ecstasy. 

Dean doesn't care about condoms. He wants Cas in him; it's not like they've been fucking around. Since Cas— since this—whatever it is—with Cas began, Dean hasn't had the urge. He compares everybody to Cas, and everybody has yet to win. It has been four years, and everybody has yet to win. Dean doesn't think that it's going to happen. There is only Cas. God, how did he ever think that there could be anyone but Cas? He fumbles at his jeans pocket and finds a small packet of lube he was sure he put there for occasions such as this.

The leather seat creaks under him as he moves to straddle Cas, his pants halfway off, pushed down far enough for Cas to touch him. One hand on the cold, worn leather, one on Cas's hot skin, Dean begs. "Cas, please?" He presses the packet into Cas's hand, wanting him so badly

Baby has decided to join the fun. Her vents send out a gust of warm air, teasing Dean's back, making him groan in pleasure, caught between the pleasantly hot air and Cas's burning touches. Under Dean, Cas is slicking himself up, teasing his fingers over Dean's hole, gently sliding inside. "Come _on_ ," Dean urges, impatient now, his dick rubbing against Cas's stomach. 

Cas is leaning back in the seat, eyes closed, lips parted in invitation. Dean kisses him, sucking Cas's tongue as it slides into his mouth, Cas's fingers in his ass. Cas's breath comes out in hitched little groans, entirely unnecessary, but Cas likes to make sounds, to breathe and groan and moan, and Dean lets him, forcing new and interesting sounds out of him with hands and tongue.

This time it is Cas's time to beg. "Please, Dean. I want to—"

Dean rises up on his knees, reaching for Cas's length that rises up between his legs as if it has a will of its own, knowing where to go. "Oh, yes," Dean groans as he sinks down on Cas's cock, the pressure so good. Cas lets his hands drop to Dean's hips, fingers digging into his skin and it makes Dean moan loudly; he likes it when Cas manhandles him a little. Cas sets the rhythm, slow and deep and a little rough, Baby humming under them, her deep rr-rr-rr sending vibrations through their joined bodies. With his head at Cas's neck, the scent of warm leather and warm skin in his nostrils, Dean lets Cas take them higher, wrapped in warmth, a small cocoon in the middle of a snow-covered deep forest. 

It has stopped snowing, and the morning sun casts a golden glow over Cas's enraptured face. Dean can barely think clearly, but like that, Cas is beautiful, the clear winter sky reflected in his eyes as he opens them, looking at Dean in that intense way, as if the world consists only of them and nobody else, before he comes, his voice broken and rough with pleasure. It does nothing for Dean's stamina. Cas's hand leaves his hip, and wrapped around Dean's cock, there is no patience left, no reason not to let go, to have his pleasure here, now, warm from sun and sex. Dean lets his release wash over him, his entire body thrumming with the intense feeling of slow and good. Dean sinks into the boneless state of the blissful orgasm, into the tenderness of Cas's embrace. 

They don't speak. They never do. Dean doesn't tell Cas that he loves him or that he was good, that it was perfect. And Cas never tells Dean that he waited for this for an eternity, waited since the universe was young and fresh, like the snow outside. It's not necessary. Cas's content groan says it all, as does the small window in time where Dean relaxes entirely, safe in Cas's arms. It is those little moments that are _enough_. 

Baby's soft springs are rocking them gently when Dean lets Cas slip out, and Dean flops down next to him, not caring one bit that he's going to soap Baby up later with leather soap and oil to remove the inevitable stains, stains that Dean prefers not to explain to Sam at some point. 

Making a content sigh, Dean fumbles for glove compartment and the wet wipes he keeps there. Cleaning up a little, Dean pulls up his pants, eager to leave now that they are both sated with kisses and pleasure. He wants breakfast and a quick clean-up at the nearest gas station. 

"I'm hot," Cas says, rolling down the window before he takes the wipes that Dean offers him. 

"So you are," Dean says, content, willing to ignore the cold air that streams into the car, clearing the steamy windows. It's fine, because Dean is warm and sated and the air is crisp and new and the morning beautiful.

"Ready to go home, Baby?" he asks.

Cas makes a tsk-ing sound. "Are you talking to me or the car?"

"To my true love," Dean teases, reaching across Cas to roll up the window.

"The car, then." Now Castiel is pouting. 

"Idiot," Dean says lovingly and turns the Impala right into the narrow forest road, Cas next to him, close enough to touch.

Yeah, it's really a beautiful morning.


End file.
